


A White Moon Beams (the Pining for the Moon remix)

by Cookie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3764179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/pseuds/Cookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin knows he's dead... but that won't stop him helping Arthur reach his destiny any way he can, with a little help from old and new friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A White Moon Beams (the Pining for the Moon remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pining for the Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/845620) by [EachPeachPearPlum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EachPeachPearPlum/pseuds/EachPeachPearPlum). 



The first thing Merlin is aware of is an all-pervading silence. There are no sounds of birdsong or the rustling of small creatures that call this small patch of forest home. The second thing Merlin is aware of is that he isn’t alone. There’s someone close by, yet he can hear no sound of breathing. Come to think of it, he can’t hear the sound of his own breathing either.

“Well, up you get.” 

The voice is irascible and impatient, then suddenly Merlin is standing facing the old crone who, it seems, has broken the absolute silence. He still can’t hear her breathe. He still can’t hear himself breathe.

He knows he’s dead.

Arthur killed him.

He stares down at the figure crumpled on the ground and knows it’s his own body.

“I’m dead,” he says and wonders how he can speak if he’s not breathing.

“Eh – for the moment, yes.”

He looks around the clearing, ignoring the ambiguous response. Even in the dim light from the waning moon, Merlin can see the devastation the beast and his destruction of it has wrought. His heart aches for the fallen knights, sprawled and bloody, and he wishes he could do something for them, but instinctively knows it’s beyond his power now. These were men he couldn’t – wouldn’t – save because he would have had to use his magic in full sight of them all and he feels sickened now. Their loss is so much worse when he ended up revealing his magic anyway; unleashing it the moment Arthur was threatened. 

Arthur killed him.

Merlin blinks hard and turns fully to face the woman.

“Who are you?”

“Who do you think I am?” The crone has been standing silently appraising him. Her back is bent and she leans on her stick as if it’s the only way she can stay upright, but the eyes in the wrinkled face beneath the hood of her cape are bright and sharp. Her expression suggests she doesn’t think much of what she sees. 

“Is this the after-life?”

She tsks at this, nodding down at the fallen body and ignoring his question. “Are you angry at your prince?”

Merlin swallows the lump rising in his throat. “I can’t believe he did it. I don’t know how I feel.” 

Hurt, betrayed, angry, afraid, rage, desperation.

Arthur had destroyed him.

“Do you want to see him?” There’s a sly quality to her voice.

“No.” Yes

“I thought you would.”

With a grip like iron, she takes hold of his arm and in the next instant they’re in Camelot.

“He cannot hear or see you. No-one can.”

They’re in Arthur’s chambers and it seems to be early morning if the unmoving lump in the bed is any guide. Merlin wants to smile, but the grief and anger rise up instead and he’s bereft of reaction, torn between breaking down and wishing he could throw something at Arthur.

He starts as the door opens and the young servant enters, realising how true the crone’s words are as the boy walks through her figure on his way to place the tray of breakfast on the table. Merlin watches as the boy works, seeing how the epitome of a perfect servant behaves. Merlin had never been perfect.

His attention is diverted, ignoring the crone’s snort of amusement as, like iron to the lodestone, he turns when the bedding quakes, and surges, and suddenly there Arthur is, sitting up in the bed and staring at the interloper.

Merlin draws in a deep breath - even though he isn’t really breathing - at the sight of Arthur, sharp pain accompanying the memory of mornings waking up next to him; seeing the broad, naked chest, tousled blond hair and sleepy blue eyes.

But he’s never seen Arthur like this. His skin grey and dull, eyes red-rimmed and hollow, as if he’d seen something, done something, regretted something terrible.

Merlin feels his anger slip away from him and the ache of betrayal is replaced by loss.

“Oh, Arthur.” He steps forward towards the bed but a hiss from the crone stops him in his tracks and instead he watches as Arthur screams at the servant until he leaves, watches with a heart full of sorrow as Arthur disappears under the blankets, watches Gaius – looking so old and worn down with sorrow – trying to soften Uther who stares down at Arthur with a frown and is barely hiding his fear.

And he watches Morgana, as she attempts to comfort Arthur, holds grimly to his hand to try and offer what help she can, as her eyes dart around the room. Once she seems to look directly at Merlin.

 

**

 

The transition back to the bloody glade happens between one blink of an eye and the next.

He dashes a hand across his eyes. “Why did you show me that?”

“Do you think he regrets what he did?”

“I know he does.” Merlin’s not sure how he knows, but when he says the words, he knows he is right. Arthur acted in haste, but Merlin has no doubt that Arthur regrets it. 

“And are you still angry?”

Merlin sighs. “No.” He never could stay angry at Arthur for long, and seeing Arthur’s grief swept away so much of it. Merlin isn’t entirely sure what he’s feeling, but the rage has gone. He shut his eyes, suddenly weary.

“Let there be an end to the secrets between you,” the crone said. “For Albion, for Camelot, for yourselves, you must teach him about your gifts and your calling. Teach him about his destiny so he has the wisdom to rule as the prophecy has foretold.”

“But I’m dead,” Merlin says.

There is only silence.

 

**

 

A gentle hand brushes across his forehead and this time when he becomes conscious, there is a soft humming; a song he knows from childhood.

“Mum?” he asks. His eyes fill with tears at the thought of her reaction when she learns her boy is gone.

A touch to his cheeks wipes the moisture away. “Hush, now, darling boy. How are you feeling?”

Wondering, he accepts the hand that helps him to his feet and he stands under the full moon. He gazes down at the corpse – his corpse – on the ground and wonders why it is unchanged, why the blood still glistens as if newly spilt.

The glade is awash with moonlight, making it appear unearthly although it is still tainted by death. Decay is stealing the knights’ bodies; taking away in stages everything that made them men, made them individuals.

She squeezes his hand, his mother –but not his real mother—and smiles at him in understanding.

With a great sob, he falls into her arms and feels the love surround him and ease the ache in his heart.

“How do you feel?” she asks again.

“I don’t know.”

Sorrowful, pained, worried, afraid, comforted, concerned.

“Do you want to see him again?”

“I don’t – yes, yes I do.” Suddenly Merlin is desperate to see Arthur, wondering how much time has passed, wondering if Arthur has forgotten him and moved on.

 

**

 

The seasons have changed, that much is clear, but Arthur’s grief and guilt hasn’t ebbed. He looks terrible. Even worse, he i’s in the midst of taking another man to his bed.

Merlin clings to his mother’s hand.

“Watch,” she says.

“This isn’t working,” Arthur says, and Merlin is glad when he pushes the boy away. “You can go now.”

Merlin watches as Arthur buries his face in the covers, watches as Morgana argues, at the way she looks straight at Merlin when she tells Arthur he’s alive, watches as Arthur admits what he’s done, watches as Morgana’s horrified eyes meet his before she leaves in a rush of silk and satin.

Don’t leave him alone now, he wants to tell her. He needs you now. 

Mother’s arm is strong around him and the glade is still limned in the glow of the full moon. Merlin draws in a short, difficult breath.

“What does this all mean?” he asks. “Why are you showing me all this? Who are you?”

“Hush, darling boy. You’ll know soon enough. All will be well, you’ll see. You love one another; you and Arthur. You were meant to be together. Your power, Arthur’s nobility and the love you share will ensure Albion will flourish.”

“I’m still dead,” Merlin reminds her, even as he feels himself slip once more into the darkness.

 

**

 

There’s a spark of power in the air when he awakens again; a faint scent of ozone as if lightning is close by. The moon is waxing in the night sky and a merry laugh brings him to his feet.

“Nimueh!”

He backs away from her, wary and confused.

Her lips are red and inviting as she smiles at him and the merry laughter peals out again.

“Merlin,” she mocks him. “Tell me, how are you feeling now?”

Like his mother, not mother, he decides, this isn’t really Nimueh. He thinks.

Merlin glances around the clearing, seeing how the decay has advanced while his own form lies still, unmoving and fresh.

As he stares, Morgana and Arthur arrive. Merlin feels concern as he sees the effect of this terrible place on Morgana and he wants to help her. Then he sees Arthur.

Arthur rushes to his side and Merlin wants to shout, call to him and let him know he’s not really there. Instead he holds the breath he doesn’t need as his body is pulled into Arthur’s arms and he can almost hear the whispered apologies, can almost feel the strength and warmth of Arthur’s embrace.

Nimueh’s voice is warm. “How are you feeling, Merlin?”

“I don’t know.” 

Forgiven, sad, alone, wanted, needed, loved.

“Time for you to go back, Merlin. Time to begin your story together with Arthur. Do not speak of what you have seen Beyond, but learn from it. You have already forgiven Arthur, but it will take time for him to forgive himself. Help him.”

Merlin nods, it’s not as if he can do anything else.

She smiles and leans forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Be well. Be happy.” As the glade around him fades he hears something else, a faint sentence on the soft breeze as the moon fades. “I forgive you, too.”

 

**

 

Merlin wakes to the ache of stiff muscles and the heat and scent of Arthur wrapped around him. For a moment, he wonders if he’s dying all over again until he realises Arthur is gripping him so tightly it’s threatening to suffocate him.

Over Arthur’s shoulder he can see Morgana grinning at him even as her tears fall and he feels a pang of shame, but one thing at a time. Right now he needs to deal with his prat of a prince. His voice is raspy when he finds it and he can see Arthur doesn’t quite believe it’s truly him speaking.

"Seriously, prat,” he searches for the best way to convince Arthur it really is him. “I need to breathe." The figure holding him tight stills for a moment and Merlin can feel Arthur’s pulse rate rocket. He grins as Arthur pulls back, for a moment just happy to be alive and in Arthur’s arms: an Arthur who is sorry, who regrets and who still seems to love.

Morgana is there now, too, and he has to let her know how sorry he is at hiding his magic at leaving her alone to suffer through the nightmares that were not truly nightmares. She doesn’t seem to care, just appears glad to see him alive. A shiver travels through his spine as he is left with the sense of a terrible horror averted.

It’s Morgana who chases them off to wash while she organises a camp. Merlin glances at Arthur as they walk to the water and smiles again as he tugs off his grimy clothes and plunges into the water. His heart rate kicks up as Arthur asks why he can’t do something about the temperature, trying hard not to show his joy at the casual way the words were spoken; as if Arthur has come to terms with his magic already.

 

**

 

Merlin should have known it couldn’t be so simple. From the moment Arthur turned away from him during their swim, he’d been distant. There seemed little Merlin could do or say that might salvage their friendship, never mind the forlorn hope of regaining their physical relationship. Having witnessed the grief and guilt Arthur had suffered, Merlin has craved an opportunity to show Arthur how much he is still loved, that Merlin trusts him. Even if he could never explain how he’s so quickly come to forgiveness, he knows he still needs to convince Arthur to forgive himself. Unfortunately, it appears Arthur wants nothing to do with him.

Uther’s reaction when they ride into the castle courtyard is what they might have expected and the King barely acknowledges that someone who had been reported as dead has returned with them. Merlin winces as he watches from the sidelines, witnessing Uther drag Arthur up the grand steps. For once he feels relief that his presence is being ignored by the King. He spins around when his name is gasped out and he almost flies into Gaius’ arms, hugging him tightly.

“Oh my boy, my boy, my dearest boy.” 

He clutches Merlin to him with all his strength and Merlin feels terrified by how weak his grip feels, understanding the toll his loss has taken on Gaius. Holding him close, he shuts his eyes and thinks the spell, knowing it has worked when Gaius stiffens and steps back with a warning frown.

Merlin grins at him, unashamed, and Gaius shakes his head, already smiling again and wiping at his eyes. 

Merlin’s homecoming is warm and he i’s amazed at how many friends he seems to have, from Gwen who weeps and then hits him, to Leon who takes the time to welcome him home, the other knights and servants, too, make a point of acknowledging his return and all accept his hastily concocted story of his mother’s sickness and recovery.

Only around Arthur does he feel unsure of his ground; off-balance. Well, he reasons to himself, he hasn’t been fired, so as far as he’s concerned it is back to work the next morning. He can’t resist walking through the halls to Arthur’s chamber, surely if they could just talk in the familiar surroundings of Arthur’s room, they could start to find their way through this. He smiles a little nervously at the guards outside as he places his hand on the door.

“The King has forbidden anyone from entering the Prince’s chamber tonight.”

The guard is friendly enough, but he’s firm and Merlin can recognise a warning when he hears it, so he shrugs.

“I’ll bring his breakfast in the morning, then,” he says, before he turns tail and trudges back to his old room at Gaius’.

 

**

 

Merlin isn’t sure what to expect in the morning and pins on his best smile, going for what has passed for a normal morning. The grin feels false, doing little to mask the fear of rejection that is plaguing him and has kept him from sleep. He reasons that he’s been asleep for months, so he really shouldn’t feel as if all he wants to do is crawl into the comfort of Arthur’s bed – Arthur’s arms – and sleep away the morning.

As always, Arthur looks befuddled and beautiful when he wakes and Merlin tumbles out of control down the precipice; falling in love all over again. Instinct urges him to drop the damn tray and get into the bed, but instead meaningless syllables trip out of his mouth and ruin any possibility of raising the ambiguous state of their relationship.

Arthur seems less than pleased to see him and Merlin has to work hard to keep the smile on his face. It isn’t quite his worst fear realised – that already happened when Arthur slit his throat – but he thought he’d seen Arthur’s grief and he’d prayed their love had survived. His love for Arthur did.

"I don't expect you to serve me any longer."

How can I blame him? Merlin thinks. I’m everything he’s been taught to hate and fear. It’s enough he hasn’t banished me or handed me over to Uther. How could I possibly expect anything more than tolerance? He drops the shirt he was clutching to his chest and searches for words that would absolve Arthur, would let him know he’ll always be there for him. Always. All Arthur has to do is ask. He fights against the urge to throw himself on his knees and beg Arthur to let him stay. He wants to ask Arthur if he thinks he is some kind of monster, to tell him he i’s still the same Merlin, magic or not, and to demand Arthur look at him.

Instead, in sad silence, he slips away through the door, his heart breaking when Arthur doesn’t even acknowledge him leaving.

 

**

 

Merlin has no idea where he’s going, stumbling through the corridors and it’s not until he’s outside a familiar room that he realises there’s only one person who might understand. 

Gwen opens the door at his urgent tapping, her comment aborted when she gets a good look at his face. Instead she grabs hold of his arm and drags him into Morgana’s chamber. It’s hardly proper, a male servant in the room of the King’s ward, but neither of the women seem to care as Gwen chivvies him into a chair and Morgana approaches.

“Merlin?” Morgana’s voice is soft. “What’s happened?” 

He’s slightly unnerved as she sinks to her knees in front of him, not used to this softness in her.

It takes a few moments for Merlin to find both the words and his voice, swallowing hard before he speaks. “Arthur sent me away. He doesn’t want me near him.” He tries to smile bravely, as if it doesn’t matter but of course Gwen and Morgana see straight through that.

“The idiot.” The softness is all gone, buried under the sudden avalanche of pure irritation. 

It’s not aimed at him, Merlin realises with relief, and he relaxes a little, feeling more at ease with Morgana in full fire and fury mode. 

In the next instant she’s gone and Merlin stares after her, bemused by the sudden exit. He turns his gaze to Gwen, who seems to be torn between concern and amusement.

“Should I go?” Merlin asks.

“Oh, no,” Gwen says, and her tone brooks no argument. “I think you should stay right there.”

Merlin wonders what there is to smile about as he sees her poor attempt to hide her grin and he sinks into his own woebegone thoughts.

It seems like only moments later when the door bursts open and Morgana arrives, chivvying a confused-looking Arthur in front of her. Arthur stills when he sees Merlin, and Merlin flinches at the expression on his face. Everything about Arthur, from his clenched fists to his heightened colour before he pales, screams to Merlin that Arthur doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. Merlin swallows, hard. He has no words, just bows his head, hoping the encounter will soon be over and he can take himself off to hide for a time; long enough to find some semblance of calm and control.

Morgana bundles Gwen out of the room. The click as the lock engages is loud in the silence punctuated only by the sound of their breathing. For the first time, Merlin really looks at Arthur and his heart climbs into his throat at the sight of his confident, brash Prince looking so…

Looking so…

…lost, ashamed, sad, afraid?

Something surges within Merlin then, a conviction that he never wants to see Arthur look so uncertain. If Merlin was the root of this then all he can do is offer an escape.

“I can open the door if you want?” he says, the offer slipping out before he really considers what he’s saying, and he qualifies it, telling Arthur he can look away, to give him the opportunity to ignore the fact Merlin is using magic right in front of him.

Arthur is staring at him, his lost expression bringing a lump to Merlin’s throat. Merlin fixes his own eyes on the hands twisting together in his lap. He’s done that, he’s put that expression on Arthur’s face and he hates himself and his magic in that moment, knowing what it has cost them both. Arthur’s question takes him by surprise.

"Is that what you want?"

How can Arthur ask that, Merlin wonders, when he’s made it so clear - crystal clear - that he doesn’t want Merlin anywhere near him. Merlin wants to scream at Arthur but manages to keep his voice quiet as he points out it was Arthur who wanted him to leave in the first place.

They stumble their way through a conversation about staying and leaving and Merlin can’t stop the hope when it starts as the smallest glimmer within him, but he still pushes it aside, surprised by the bitterness that washes over him when he reminds Arthur they could no longer ignore the magic. It is such a part of Merlin that Arthur must realise, must acknowledge, that he’s not going to be able to ignore it or pretend it doesn’t exist.

The hope grows ever stronger as Arthur speaks and Merlin hears no doubt, no fear, in the beloved voice and wonders if he’s dreaming.

“I want to wake up with you every morning and I want to know everything there is to know about you, every secret you’ve ever had, magic included.”

In the end, all Merlin can do in the face of Arthur’s declaration is to cross the distance between them, take Arthur into his arms, lean forward and touch their mouths together. He kisses Arthur until all their uncertainties and fears are lost in a reaffirmation of the love they still share, despite all that seems to have gone wrong. 

There is nothing they can’t overcome now, Merlin realises, as he’s tugged even closer to Arthur. Nothing they can’t face together now there are no more secrets between them. He smiles into the kiss, feeling the answering curve of Arthur’s mouth. When they finally break apart they are both grinning like idiots.

“Merlin.”

Even in their closest moments, Arthur has never said his name so fondly, filled with such love and affection. Merlin swallows and blinks hard.

“Merlin,” Arthur leans forward until their foreheads touch. “You can open the door now.”

Arthur watches, his smile never faltering as Merlin whispers the word, and the door clicks open.

In a flurry of movement, Arthur grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet. Merlin laughs with sheer joy as he’s towed out of the door and they scamper along the corridor as if they’re small boys up to mischief rather than two of the most powerful men in the Kingdom. They run past Morgana and Gwen in the empty corridor and Arthur ignores Morgana’s demands to know what’s happened. As if it isn’t obvious. Merlin pauses though, tugging Arthur to a stop for a moment. With another word, he grins at the women, hearing their gasps and Arthur’s hoot of laughter as Morgana is crowned with sweet white lilies and Gwen with yellow roses, and then they’re off again, shoulder to shoulder. 

Together, thinks Merlin. 

Always together.

 

**

 

Long Epilogue

Merlin knows going into the tavern is a bad idea, but he follows Arthur anyway, just as he always does. They’ve had a few precious days on their own, away from Uther’s growing madness and Morgana’s frustration at the limits put on her because of her sex and her magic. Merlin has done his best, teaching her what he knows and spending time with her to learn more together, but the continuing persecution of other magic users is taking its toll on them both. Arthur does his best, something they both acknowledged in their own conversations, trying to save as many as he can. It is never going to be enough for any of them.

Now they’re on their way back to Camelot and Arthur is obviously trying to put off the moment when they are to ride into the castle courtyard and he would have to pull the mantle of royalty around him once more. Merlin is wise enough to know the need to hide their relationship and that Merlin’s abilities also rankle with Arthur so he doesn’t complain too much – just enough to keep up their usual banter.

Sighing, with just enough carping to make it believable, Merlin follows Arthur into the tavern. 

They aren’t recognised, which Merlin can see Arthur likes, even if the barmaid does take a shine to Merlin, and there’s a certain joy in finding themselves in the midst of a brawl. Merlin takes to the man who allies himself with them.

The brawl is drawing to its close and, with the judicious use of Merlin’s magic, the apparent underdogs are well on the way to trouncing the thugs when the knife comes out of nowhere. It is heading straight for Arthur’s heart and their ally pushes Arthur out of the way and grabs the arm holding the knife before Merlin can do anything. The two men grapple for the weapon and before Merlin can react the knife buries itself deep in their ally's leg. Merlin has just enough time to break his fall and stop his head hitting off the floor, hurrying over to him and leaving Arthur to deal comprehensively with their assailants.

“Don’t touch the knife,” Merlin warns, as he drops to his knees and begins to inspect the damage. Merlin hears Arthur’s voice as he directs the clear up and smiles slightly as the natural authority takes over and Arthur is obeyed without question.

Merlin catches the curious look bestowed on him by their new friend and smiles briefly before turning his attention back to the knife, trying to work out how it can be removed without making the injury worse. Thinking through the nausea-inducing book of human anatomy Gaius had forced him to study, he traces the path of the heart’s blood and frowns.

In the next moment, Arthur is by his side reaching out to grip the injured man’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Don’t thank me,” comes the response. “It was a damn stupid thing to do. Name’s Gwaine.” Gwaine peers down at the knife embedded in his flesh and his eyes are too knowing when they meet Merlin’s. “You a physician, then?”

“Apprentice to the best physician in Camelot,” Merlin puts as much reassurance in his voice as he can.

“Ah well, give me a good send off, now will you? Plenty of good red wine, cider, beer. Have a party.”

“You’re not going to die,” says Merlin.

“At least I’ve got someone pretty to look at, eh?”

Merlin glances up at that and blushes at the frank inspection. Arthur clears his throat and scowls, drawing Gwaine’s eyes to him and the inspection segues into understanding. Merlin tries not to smile.

Arthur’s expression doesn’t change when he sees the positioning of the knife, but there’s a new tension in him. Merlin wonders whether Gwaine is aware of it or whether it’s due to their closeness that he sees it in Arthur. His Prince has seen too many battlefield injuries not to be aware when something is serious. He tries to be subtle, but Gwaine is too close and is listening avidly to every word.

“Can you help him?” Arthur asks. “You know?” He wiggles his fingers in a way that is obviously meant to be subtle. 

Gwaine’s brow furrows.

“I’ve been working with Gaius. I should be able to stop the bleed quite quickly. Can you hold him?” Merlin glances around. No-one else is taking much notice of them, busy dealing with the aftermath of the fight.

What Merlin means is can Arthur shield him so he can use magic without Gwaine or anyone else in the room seeing what is actually happening.

There i’s no verbal response. Instead, Arthur simply moves into a position where he i’s leaning across Gwaine’s torso and holding his shoulders, effectively hiding Merlin’s actions. 

Merlin concentrates on the wound, letting his breathing settle as he sends his magic out to probe it. Gwaine hisses but manages to stay still. Gaius’ words echo through Merlin’s mind, explaining how magic can be used on such wounds, helping to repair the damage as the blade is withdrawn. The timing is crucial if there is to be no major bleed. His pack is close at hand and he pulls out some of the supplies Gaius insists he always carries, laying them ready.

Arthur looks over his shoulder and Merlin nods. 

“Keep him still.”

Merlin places one hand on Gwaine’s leg and curls the other around the hilt of the knife, gathering his power. He takes a deep breath and pulls, whispering the words of the healing spell as he does. Gwaine jerks and lets loose a strangled cry, but Arthur has a tight hold and doesn’t let him pull away. Abruptly, Gwaine relaxes and Merlin, busy packing the remaining wound with herbs before he binds it, realises Gwaine has fainted.

He’s not out for long and Arthur releases him as he struggles to sit up and inspect his leg suspiciously.

“What did you do? That knife was – “

Merlin trades a glance with Arthur before he speaks, projecting as much calm as he can manage. Arthur is a reassuring presence and Merlin smiles as Arthur’s hand squeezes his shoulder.

“You were incredibly lucky, Gwaine. The knife just missed the major vein. Looks like you won’t be dying today. I’d like you to come back to Camelot with us, so I can get the physician to have a look at what I’ve done.”

Gwaine is still staring at Merlin, eyes intent, and he opens his mouth as if to speak, but huffs out a laugh instead. “It’s been a very long time since I was in Camelot. I’m not too fond of that King of theirs.”

Merlin wonders what exactly Gwaine means by that, and if it does have anything to do with a dislike of Uther’s stance on magic.

“He’s still the King, and you’d do well to remember it.” Arthur’s voice is sharp but to Merlin’s ears it lacks the conviction it used to hold. 

Arthur is staring at Gwaine and frowning, as if trying to remember something. His expression clears suddenly and Merlin wonders at the dull blush crawling across Gwaine’s skin. He didn’t seem the type of man to embarrass easily.

“Well, I’ve heard his son is a much better man. He might even be a man worth following.” Gwaine recovers quickly. “What do you say, Merlin? Would you agree that’s a true description of your Prince?”

Merlin looks at Arthur and smiles. “The Prince is the best of men, Gwaine, and is deserving of your loyalty.

“Do you think, seeing as how I saved his wretched skin today, he might pay the bar bill for me?

Arthur throws he head back and barks out a laugh. “He might at that, Sir Gwaine.”

“I’m no knight.” 

“Very well then, Gwaine of Caerleon. As you say, it’s been a long time since we welcomed you and your father to Camelot.”

Gwaine is scowling and Arthur holds his hands up. “I’d better go and clear your debt. Merlin, can you get Gwaine onto a horse?”

Merlin nods and begins to help Gwaine to his feet. Gwaine pulls on Merlin’s arm, bringing their faces close together. 

“Are you mad,” he says. “Don’t deny it – you did magic right in front of the Crown Prince of Camelot.” 

Merlin grins at him and continues to help him up without responding. 

By the time they’re half way to Camelot, Gwaine is teasing Arthur mercilessly, though Merlin notices the way he is sometimes watching them, quiet and thoughtful. There’s something about Gwaine, Merlin decides, something that Arthur needs and when he catches Arthur’s eyes, Arthur nods in acknowledgement. Gwaine is not just something Arthur needs, Merlin thinks, appreciating the way an easy friendship seems to be developing so quickly. In a moment of prescience, Merlin sees and knows that Gwaine is an integral part of their destiny.

Not so long ago, he thinks, he was lying in a bloody glade, killed by the very man who held his heart. He’d thought it was all over, but it wasn’t. 

It was only just beginning.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear EachPeachPearPlum - I hope you enjoy my take on your wonderful story. As soon as I saw it I wanted to hear Merlin's views on it all - and to work out what happened when he was dead. Gwaine wasn't in your original fic, but I wanted to include him - I hope it works for you. Many thanks for letting me play in your Universe for a while.
> 
> Thanks to inspired_being for the beta and to the Mods for doing so much to keep our lovely fandom going!


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